


Memento Mori

by Serathurq



Series: Ars Moriendi (The Art of Dying) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Won't Show up for a While, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry is Gay for Death, Homosexuality, LITERALLY, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mothering Harry, Not Canon Compliant, OOC Harry Potter, Powerful Harry, Protective Avengers, Protective Harry, Protective Tony Stark, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serathurq/pseuds/Serathurq
Summary: The Master of Death is cursed to suffer an eternal life. Bound to old ties, he is doomed to wander Earth for years unending.After hundreds of years roaming a slowly dying planet, Death gave his Master a choice.Now the Master of the Death spends his years roaming the universe, each time as a different sentient being.…This is the story of but one of those many journeys. A journey through fire, war and the rage of a lost Titan.





	1. The Three Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Literally nothing.

In the beginning, Darkness reigned supreme. Light did not exist, and time was an unmeasurable notion. Magic was unfeasible, and life impossible.

                Nothing was permitted to grow within this endless dark.

                Nothing existed, for there was nothing to exist _in._

There was only Darkness.

                A Darkness that ruled an empty Kingdom for a long, _long_ time.

 

When the change came, it came with such suddenness that the Darkness did not see it coming.  Oh, it had been there, lying in wait, since the beginning. It had been part of the Darkness itself, a small and unused part, lacking form and strength.  

                Yet idleness invites scorn.

                As the Darkness continued its totalitarian reign, it grew smug in its power and rule. With nothing there to challenge it, somnolence took over.  It became idle, content in its lone existence.

                In the carelessness of the Darkness, a shape was forged and made. Power was stolen and bent to the will of another. Slowly, an intelligence grew that rivalled the Darkness, sentient and able. It was as much alike as it was different to its forbearer.

                When the new being reached its maturity, it took a moment to gaze at the kingdom in front of it. It looked at the dark, and saw nothing.

                It did not like it.

                So it decided to change it.

 

First came light.

                Revealing its form with a white light that lashed at its surroundings, the new being rose and tore the cloak of shadow that had been hiding it for so long. The light was blinding, pure and untainted by ill will. In tangent with the light, the new being threw all of his strength against the Darkness, bringing pain and hurt with it.

                The Darkness, unused to any resistance, recoiled away from the blinding light before him. Never before had it been subject to a power as large as its own, to a light so different to its own.

                It was torture. Torture on a level that the Darkness could not comprehend. Torture that he could not fight -

                Could not survive.

                With a scream of pain that reverberated through its entire kingdom, the Darkness fled.

                A new King was born.

 

* * *

 

 

Mortem, the God of Death, stood floating above a lone planet, and gazed with sadness at the life underneath him.

                Due to his power and the very nature of it, Mortem could not touch any living being prematurely – for one touch would have them depart the land of the living, and tip the balance over.  He could not talk neither, for his voice was only heard when the souls were at his door, and ready for him to shepherd them to a better place. So he stood afar, watching the worlds grow without him.

                For many eons, Mortem had toiled over the worlds in his care, content with the job that was given to him by his Father. There was never a quiet moment, for death touches all at the end. Gathering souls and ferrying them across the border was a ceaseless job – a necessity. Mortem may not have been happy, but he was content. After all, who was there to complain to? His Father? No, he could never bring such a whimsical complaint forward to his Father. Who then? The other Gods? He scoffed at the very idea of that! He was the First and the Last – the first of the Gods to be born and the Beginning of the End. He would gather the souls of his brothers and sisters when the time came, and so refused to show weakness in front of those who were weaker than him.

                He would have to suffice being on his own.

 

The ages came and went. Planets died and new worlds grew. New species were discovered, whilst others died. The cycle of life continued. Mortem remained on his own.  

                Yet…every now and then, when Mortem found a moment of respite, a thought would come to him. A fleeting idea, nothing more.  It disappeared more often than not for centuries, reappearing on the rare occasions where Mortem saw something that reinforced his loneliness. As the years continued to stretch, however, the thought grew louder, until the idea took root. And as the ages came and went, it grew bigger. So much so, that Mortem found himself constantly thinking about it.

                _He didn’t need to be alone._

                He was Death. His powers were the strongest from all the Gods, second only to his Father, stretching boundlessly from him into the distance. If he was doomed to wander the universe forever, the least the universe could do was give him company. Someone that would stay with him till the very end, bound to him in every way that mattered.

                Mind set up, Mortem began planning how he would bring this person into being. It would undoubtedly take time, most probably eons, for the being to be created. It would need power too, power as thick and endless as his own, maybe more.  He refused to accept anyone lesser than he to be his companion. He wanted someone who would accept him through everything, an equal that could stand up to him and compliment him at the same time.  A warrior, a leader, and a friend.

A lover.

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry Potter woke up to see the vast spectrum of space before him, he immediately knew that he was dead. The last thing he remembered was facing off Voldemort one last time, seeing the emerald killing curse hurling towards him as his own shot out to hit Voldemort. Seeing as he was now seemingly floating in space, it didn’t take a genius to realise that he was dead.

                Yet the thought of being dead did not worry him. He had done all that he could for his people, had sacrificed everything to help them. He had cried, bled and tortured himself for their sanity, giving up his very humanity to help them. He could no longer remember a time without Voldemort, his very life belonging and ending with the other. His friends had died in the early years of the war, leaving Harry alone with Voldemort and a horde of scared witches and wizards. The years had stretched for so long, until Harry had grown weary of the constant battle between Voldemort and himself.

                For a long time now, he knew that it could only end one way. Perhaps now, seeing as his assumption was right, he could finally rest and join his family.

                Feeling more at peace than he ever remembered being, Harry stared at the endless expanse in front of him. Whole galaxies seemed to stretch in front of him, beautiful stars and planets swirling around him with indescribable colours.  No words existed to describe what Harry felt looking at all the _creation_ in front of him.  It was-

                ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

                Startled, Harry turned abruptly. There, on his right, was a tall man making his way towards him. The man was floating languidly; seemingly content to reach Harry at his own time.  The man was shrouded in shadows and wisps; they curled lovingly around him, shying away when he moved, but curling back around him when he stilled. He was handsome, exceedingly so (though Harry could not distinguish any features, no matter how hard he looked).

                ‘Yes,’ Harry answered. ‘It is’.

                Perhaps Harry should have felt frightened about this stranger, or questioned what he was and how he came to be here, but Harry could only feel a calmness sweep through him at the other’s presence.

                The man drew nearer, so that he was floating a few inches in front of Harry. A smile stretched his face, so that his face transformed from handsome to otherworldly. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and rich. It was heavy with power, but soft with love.

                ‘Harry Potter. I have waited for you to die for a long, long time. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.’

                Harry felt himself flush at the words he heard. Here was a strange man, beautiful and powerful, who seemed ecstatic at his death. Yet his excitement did not stem from malice, that much was clear. No, what was making Harry turn red was the love and adoration that the man was looking at him with.  Having never been at the end of such love before, Harry felt both flattered and shy.

                ‘Who are you?’ Harry asked softly.

                The man smiled in response and curled a hand lovingly around Harry’s face. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was leaning in to the touch, closing his eyes in pleasure as a link between himself and the other was forged, allowing him to see the others story.

                ‘My name is Mortem, Harry. I am what your people call Death. I am tied to every world in the universe, and I ferry the souls of the dead to their final rest. It is a heavy duty, one that I do not take lightly, for I alone can carry it out.’

                Almost at once, Harry felt a swell of emotion rise up in him. He knew what duty felt like, knew first hand what it demanded of its sacrifices. Tears filled his eyes as his heart bled out for this God in front of him.

                ‘I’m sorry,’ Harry whispered softly. ‘No being should ever have to carry out a duty on their own.’

                Mortem’s eyes shone with pain as they looked at Harry, well aware of the sacrifices that Harry had made over the years fighting Voldemort. Leaning down, Mortem pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead, tucking the other into his arms.  ‘I am no longer alone, my Master.’

                Harry’s face was bright red now. Here he was, a supposedly powerful wizard, pressed to Death’s chest as if a newly born babe. Yet, despite how embarrassed he felt, Harry couldn’t help but enjoy the comfort Mortem was willing to provide him. It was…nice.

                The minutes passed in silence, both content to lie in each other’s arms. Yet, unbidden, something Mortem had just said caused concern to rise up in Harry. Raising his head from where it was resting on the God’s chest (and Harry’s flush deepened at that, because since when was he comfortable being this close to someone?), the dead wizard met Mortem’s eyes.

                ‘What did you call me?’ he asked curiously.

                Mortem smiled. ‘I called you Master, Harry, for that is what you are. You collected my trinkets, when millions have tried and failed before. You alone met the criteria that I set up eons ago, passing all the rules and security measures I had put in place. You were destined for me, Harry.  Destined to be my Master and my equal.’

                Harry furrowed his brows as he let the words sink in.  Despite his shock at hearing that he was apparently the destined partner to _Death_ , the words Mortem used grabbed his attention. They rang with familiarity, as if he had heard them somewhere before. But when did he hear them? And who said them?

_Hermione._

                After Ron had left Hermione and him – joining the rest of his family in death– Harry and Hermione had taken to sitting curled together in front of the fireplace at Headquarters. He would more often than not be dreaming about the Hallows, or with his gaze turned inwards to his connection with Voldemort in a vain effort to find him. Hermione, on the other hand, would be curled over one of her books, trying to come up with new strategies and ideas to pitch against the devil. One night, when they were both feeling particularly drained, she had turned to him and voiced her concern about his growing obsession with the Hallows. She had looked at him with pity and sadness, as if she knew something he did not. Yet Harry never could figure out why she had looked at him with such anguish, for though he had been set on stopping Voldemort from getting the hallows, his obsession did not stretch to himself. Yet when he explained this to her, Hermione’s eyes turned sadder.

 _She knew_ , Harry suddenly realised. Somehow, Hermione had known that he would become the Master of Death.

                Whispering the words she had told him then in warning, Harry felt something _click_ inside him when his gaze met Mortem’s.  Power crackled the air as he unknowingly began the ritual that would begin his transformation.

 

 _‘_ “ _When all three objects are brought together…the Master of Death shall be made anew._

_He will rise from the ashes bearing a new form, untainted and untouched._

_This form shall belong to Death alone, an oath between the two._

_To spend eternity as one being, through all of time and space.”_

 

As the words to his oldest ritual fell from Harry’s lips, Mortem could barely restrain his power from lashing out. His magic screamed in defiance at being held back from its promised one, wanting to touch and caress the one that would belong to them.

                With a resounding _boom_ , Mortem’s magic broke out of its confines and rushed towards Harry, enveloping the man in warmth and power. With a blinding flash, Mortem’s true form was revealed to Harry – a giant of immense power. Rising to his full height, the God grasped the awed man in front of him and drew him into his arms.

               The God bent down and kissed Harry lightly, a softness that belied the growl of possessiveness he let loose at the touch. Pouring his power through his kiss, Mortem watched with glee as a golden light covered Harry’s form, slowly changing his form and power.  

                The last words of the ritual fell from Mortem's lips, sealing the bond between them forever more.

_“And so Master and Servant unite as one, two souls guarding the dead,_

_Bond unbreakable, they alone shall remain when all others fall.”_

 

Harry screamed as pain such as he had never felt before consumed his being. Ripping himself away from Mortem, the wizard fell to his knees and shouted his anguish to the silent universe around them. Gold filled his vision as little tendrils of power swept through his being, altering his flesh and bone, reconstructing his very atoms.

                Mortem, no longer gleeful at the sight of his lover in pain, watched silently as the wizard changed.  It would take hours for the change to finish completely, and until it finished, Mortem swore never to leave Harry’s side.

                He would protect his lover.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in the heart of the universe, in an indistinguishable moment in time, Harry Potter died and the Master of Death was born.

_All that once was is gone, and that which will be, is made._


	2. The Awakening Roar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I’m glad to see some people enjoying this so far – your love means everything to me (thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos)! 
> 
> This idea took root in my head many months ago, but I’ve only just been bothered to put it down on paper. I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, for there is so much I have planned for the rest of it.
> 
> Just as a heads up, Harry will no longer be referred to as Harry Potter. If you recall, Harry died when the ritual began. Though he will remain Harry in some ways, he is the Master of Death now.

 

_“The Master of Death serves a duty different to his Servant._

_Two different roles, tied irrevocably together._

_The Master shall bear all the forms of the universe, a curse unending._

_His duty not to ferry souls, but to maintain all balance.”_

* * *

 

The Master of Death stared at the decaying world in front of him, his face warring between sadness and acceptance. Despite the hundreds of years he had spent guarding this small Earth, unthanked and unnoticed by all but those at Death’s door, he had grown close to the inhabitants that once lived here.

                They had reminded him of a past long forgotten – of magic and friendship, and of war and carnage. The memories of that time had never truly returned to him after he had been made, tied as they were to his old life, mere fragments now of a time long gone. So he protected the inhabitants instead, the little witches and wizards that sang with magic; in honour of what he lost, and in duty to his Servant.

                When he had first been made anew, Mortem had told him that he would remain bound to his old planet for an unknown length of time. His soul, despite being reshaped and forged, was still tied to the magic and laws of his past world, and would remain so until its demise. The Master, though saddened to hear that he could not remain by Mortem’s side, had accepted it all with a nod and goodbye.

                The years had gone by slowly initially, one into ten into a hundred. In his solace, he had grown fond of the mundane humans and the wizards and witches that roamed the planet, and so chose to spend his time protecting them.

                But despite his want to protect the inhabitants... they were gone now. They had been slain by his own hands a few years ago, when the blood on their hands ran in rivers and their greed grew to match it. For over the years, the planet they had resided in had struggled to breath. It could not survive the hate that permeated its very airs, and so corroded over the years until it was no longer salvageable, no longer liveable.

                They had destroyed a planet whose core should have enabled it to live millions of more years. The balance had to be restored – life restored by death.

                So the Master of Death sent the last of the inhabitants to his Servant, knowing that it would balance the scales.

                Balance, in all things, had to be maintained.

 

The Master of Death gazed upon the ruin of his once beautiful planet, and felt his soul suddenly break free from the chains that had confined him for so long to a dead planet.

                Ah, it seemed that his friend, the last of the magic on Earth, had passed.

                Years after the death of everything else, Magic had prevailed, struggling to survive in a place with no life and purpose. It had followed the Master in the beginning, trailing after the dark magic he possessed. Though one could not see the other, they had formed a bond together, a connection that came from being the only two beings on a dying planet.

                Their friendship born, the two often spent their days sitting in companionable silence, both content to watch the world die. Sometimes, if the Master was feeling particularly playful, they would play a game of tag together. As it grew weaker, however, Magic could not keep up and it fell behind. The games stopped, and the Master often found himself nurturing the little wisp with what little he could share.

                It was not enough (could never be enough). The Master’s magic was hurtful to all but Mortem, and in sharing it with another, even if it was a little, the Master had doomed Magic.

                The Master could not help but shed a tear for the Magic that he had grown familiar with these past years. They had been the only two entities in a world of nothing.

                He cried.

                And he knew nothing.

* * *

 

‘It is good to see you again, Master.’

                ‘And you, Mortem’

                The two beings were in space again, floating languidly in its endless expanse. Yet despite the beauty and the multitude of colours and galaxies around them, the two beings could only stare transfixed at each other. Their eyes hungrily roamed over each other’s bodies, both of them taking in their fill, fixing each other’s image in their memories.

                It had been a while since the last time Mortem had visited his Master in his cage on Earth. Though both immortals loved each other dearly, and would like nothing more than to be at each others side, it was not to be. Their duties as Master and Servant did not align – _could not_ align. And as his Master was trapped to another planet, Mortem had to make do with visiting his Master when he was free, sporadic and far apart. They had talked every day though, through their bond. (If not for their daily conversations, Mortem was sure that he would have shirked all his duties to be with his Master.) He loved having the other around, often craving to feel the others skin on his own, to be as near as possible to his beloved and hear his delicate tone.

                ‘I see that your bond to your old planet has died. No longer can I see those cursed chains on your soul, only the wings of freedom.’

                The Master nodded his head contently. ‘Aye. I now wholly, and completely, belong to you.’

                Eyes darkening in pleasure, Mortem could not help but feel pleased to hear his Master accept their bond so completely. Alas, if only they could spend all their days twined around each other!

                ‘Indeed,’ Mortem stated, ‘and now that you are free, what is it that you will do?’

                Here, the Master frowned. ‘I did not expect that I would have a choice,’ he said. ‘I was under the impression that I would be with you after I broke free from my old ties.’

                Mortem smiled sadly, and stepped closer to his mate, leaning in so their foreheads touched. ‘How I wish it was so, Master,’ he exhaled softly, ‘but the fates will not allow it. Though your soul and mine are irrevocably joined together now, our duties do not align.’

                ‘What do you mean?’ the Master asked curiously, a soft whisper shared in the small space between the two.

                ‘There are many duties that I bear alone, Master, duties that I have held alone for eons. But since your conception, the most important of those duties has fallen to you to reflect your station. Your duty, as the Master, is to maintain the balance between all the worlds. Now that you are free from your chains, the duty cannot be passed back to me.’

                The Master of Death frowned at these words, disbelief warring with sadness as he realised that he would be unable to see Mortem everyday.

                ‘You said I had a choice,’ the Master asked quietly, ‘could I not choose to stay here with you?’

                Mortem felt sorrow sweep him at those words. Here was his sweet Master, wanting to stay with him. If ever Mortem needed proof that he chose right with Harry Potter, it was this.

                ‘I wish it was so, dear Master. But that is not one of your choices. As Master of Death, your first responsibility will always be to maintaining the balance.’

                ‘But what does that mean? When I was trapped in my old planet, maintaining the balance was not my job. I did it, in duty and loyalty to you, but it was not something I went about doing daily.’

                ‘You are correct, Master. When you were tied to your planet, you could not take the entirety of the responsibility, only some.  You unconsciously followed it, aware as you were of the importance of keeping it. Now that you are free from those chains, everything will change.’

                ‘What are my choices then, Mortem?' the Master asked quietly.

                Mortem gave his dear Master a soft kiss; sorrow tightening his heart at his Master’s acceptance.  He pulled back and smiled. ‘You have two choices,’ he said slowly. ‘You can choose to roam the universe as a wrath, a shadow unseen by all but myself. If you select this choice, you will have access to all your powers and mine – so to make all the significant decisions that need to maintain the balance, unchecked by any being out there. And,’ and here Mortem paused to stare lovingly at his partner, ‘we will be able to see each other more, for as a wrath, the space between us shrinks.’

                The Master of Death hesitated at hearing this. Though he would love nothing more than to be with Mortem at every opportunity... he had just spent hundreds of years tied to a planet where no one could see him. He did not think he could do it forever. ‘What is my other choice?’ he asked cautiously.

                Hearing this, Mortem’s expression shifted to sad acceptance (he had always known deep down that his Master would not choose the first option, but foolishly, he had still held on to his hope). "Your other option is one that would have you bound to all the worlds of the universe. You will be sent to a single world at a time, where you will be asked to stop the balance from tipping over by acting as a guardian of sorts. Instead of maintaining the balance on your own, you will be tasked to protect the individuals who will stop the tipping of the scale. You will be given a form, a different one for each planet, to protect these individuals with all the power granted to you.’

                ‘And the downside?’ the Master asked, hardly daring to believe that he would be given the opportunity to explore the universe in its entirety.

                Mortem, accepting the fact that his Master would choose the latter option, solemnly continued, ‘the downside, my dear Master, is that you and I will not be able to see each other as often as we would like. I will be able to talk to you everyday, and visit on occasions, but as I cannot forsake my duty here, we will be separated for the most part. It will be as if you were still trapped on that cursed planet."

                The Master felt so grieved to hear this that tears started to fill his eyes. His bond to Mortem was his most cherished thing, a treasure that he could never forsake. And yet… he _could not_ see himself becoming a wrath; unseen and unheard, a God of Shadows.

                He wanted to _explore_.

                Mind torn into two, the Master started to cry uncontrollably, his tears hiding his view of his Servant. Did he choose his dear Mortem, or the beauty of a thousand world and galaxies?

                Mortem, seeing the pain and anguish in his lover's eyes, pressed many soft kisses to his Master’s lips and whispered his promise over and over between each one.

                 ‘I will always love you, Master, no matter what you choose. Go with your heart, dear one, and be happy.'

                 

* * *

 

 

The Master of Death had many names and faces throughout the universe, each one different and unique to the world he inhabited. Yet in all of these lives, one thing only remained consistent: his duty.

                Whenever a world seemed to be on the brink of despair, the Master of Death would appear. In a span of a few days, or in several years, he would locate the inhabitant that was tasked with protecting the world and guard them. Against every foe and obstacle, come hell or high water, he would protect his ward.

                When the task was done, and balance restored, the Master of Death moved on – a new face with a new name. A life unmade, a new life born.

                Some lives were short, others long, varying between each other like liquid water. Not one life was ever the same (though some lives shared the same ward), for darkness crept in many shapes and forms. Sometimes he would be jumped across the times, his beginnings and ends all jumbling together to form one ceaseless circle of life. Other lives saw him live the same moment over and over, ensuring that his duty was fulfilled. 

               Balance restored.

               It was a life that the Master enjoyed, one of adventure and excitement, of wonders, sorrows and laughter. Sometimes Mortem helped, shirking his duties to visit his Master and renew their love. The Master would always look forward to those days, as his Servant only every brought love and fun with him. The days would stretch out, blissful and youthful, echoing over the fields.

 

 He never regretted his choice.

 

* * *

 

The Master of Death opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar world meet his gaze. He frowned.

               The last thing he remembered was taking the sword meant for Thor on the eve of the battle. Thor, in his youth and inexperience, had been distracted while he was fighting Sturm. Just as he was about to slay the leader, a Storm Giant had crept behind Thor's back, sword raised with ill intent.

               Born as an Asgardian, it had taken the Master only a couple of hundreds of years to become a member of the Royal Guard. There he was given the duty to protect the Crown Prince, his ward for that life. For many years, he had followed the little boy around, nurturing him and creating a deep bond between the two of them (and Loki, who the Master found he could not refuse).

                And then the time came that demanded the Master to fulfill his duty.

                Asgard went to war against the Storm Giants, with Thor leading the army (a test of courage and strength, Odin had said). The thought of failure never once entered the mind of the King, used as he was to unearned victories. The All-Father, in his arrogance and pride, did not foresee the consequences that would fall upon the Nine Realms if Thor were to lose. So it fell to the Master to follow Thor and ensure his victory. When the moment came, and the sword was raised against Thor's back, the Master did not hesitate at all.

                Seeing as he was here in this new place, and not in Asgard, the Master drew the conclusion that Thor had won the war. The balance, for the moment, was maintained.

                He could move on.

 

But where was he? What world had he found himself in this time?

               The sun was blindingly hot, unforgiving and unceasing. It pressed down on the grainy sand that surrounded the Master, creating a wave of simmering heat and grit. Feeling like he was drowning in the heat, the Master attempted to stand up so that he could look around. _Attempted_ being the key word. For no matter how many different forms he took, the Master still struggled when he found himself bearing a form different to his original.

                Shakily standing on four legs, the immortal tried to look at himself and see what form he had taken this time. Golden legs stretched underneath him, rippled with strong yet graceful muscles.  A tail, tipped with soft red hair, swayed behind him in the windless air. His face also seemed to be framed by a mane of red hair that was intent on blocking part of his view. He furrowed his brows, trying to go through the encyclopaedia in his head of all the species and races in the universe (a power Mortem had given him only after many years of laughter and joking jibes at the Master's inability to name anything ).

                A second later, the name jumped in his mind: lion.

                A smile slowly crept over the Master’s face as he realised that this was an unused form, something he had never explored before. He always loved being born into something new and unworn before. And a lion…if he thought hard enough, he could vaguely recollect memories of a life long gone. There had been a group of lions, maybe. Red and gold banners too. 

                Of course! The lion reminded him of his first life, when he was Harry Potter. When he had still been mortal and tied to others.  From the little that he remembered, his life as Harry Potter had been sad and tiresome, filled with struggle and loss. Yet he was nonetheless pleased to know that in some way he was connected to it.

 

The Master spent the next few hours familiarising himself with his form and surroundings. The desert that he had apparently fallen in seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him – yellow sand and unnatural heat.

                There was no sign of any living being, which did not please the Master at all. From past experiences, he knew that this meant that he had to wait patiently before his duty could begin. He growled under his breath (he would have to get used to that too), frustrated. The lack of anything meant that he would probably not see his ward for a long time yet. If there was anything that remained from the Master’s old life as Harry Potter, it was his impatience. 

                Rising on the crest of another sand dune, the Master gazed at the ( _still)_ empty expanse in front of him.  His eye ticked in annoyance, and before he knew it, the Master was unleashing a roar of anger, one which echoed across the dusty dunes and empty villages.

        

* * *

 

Somewhere in the universe, Mortem heard his Master's roar and raised his head from the soul he was coaxing forth. 

                Ah.

                It seemed his Master had finally been born anew again, a new life with a new ward. He smiled in anticipation. Hopefully, it was somewhere far, _far_ away from the Asgardians (he had never liked the pretend Gods, they always made more trouble then they were worth).

                As he went back to the soul he was trying to coax free from  its body, he vaguely wondered whether he should go visit his sweet Master soon.

                Just to see what his next adventure was, of course, and to make sure he was alright. (The wicked smirk that graced his face as he thought of tasting his Master's new form was purely coincidental. He would smite anyone who said otherwise).  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess where Harry ended up? 
> 
> Alright, I know some you might have questions, so to answer some of them:  
> \- Harry, as Master of Death, can be born as anything sentient. This means animals or even trees! I chose a lion this time, because….well, you’ll see.  
> \- Though Harry is bound to Mortem in every way (*waggles eyebrows*), Mortem still has his own duty. So he visits Harry regularly wherever he goes, and talks to him every day, but their duties are different. It would not have worked otherwise (or if it does, not in this story)  
> Coming up: Harry meets the one he is meant to protect.


	3. The Lion in the Desert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I’m back! 
> 
> Thank, thank you, thank you to everyone who commented and gave kudos (and to everyone else too). I never expected this story to be so well liked. You guys are all angels!
> 
> To those of my readers who are wandering why I’m not updating my other stories, I am currently mid way through writing their next chapters, but this story hasn’t been able to leave my mind since I started writing it down. 
> 
> But never fret, we shall get there one day!

_“Never tiring, never ageing,_

_The Master of Death travels from world to world,_

_Seeking those who fight for balance._

_Alongside those who war with darkness.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Afghanistan.

                A country of sand, heat and beauty. Of sadness, hate and a reign of power. Of small joys and wonders, near unperceivable amongst all the misery. It was a beautiful country, despite the turmoil that superimposed everything.  And it survived, amidst wars of terror and death, and against all odds and bets. 

                It was within this contradicting country of love and hate that the Master had been born within.

 

When the Master had first landed in the sandy dunes of the desert, he had not yet known where he was.  He spent days wandering the sandy dunes, mindlessly searching for any sign of life. Eventually, when he had been on the brink of giving up (he _never_ gave up, but he would have certainly started to beg Mortem for help), he had found a small village, tucked neatly underneath the shade a small mountain provided.

                Alas, the sight of him had caused many of the villagers to run away in fear, though the Master could forgive them that considering that they had probably never seen a lion as large as him before (his forms were always larger than their counterparts).

               They ran from him. Barring doors and clutching children in fear. 

                It was only after many days of sitting peacefully outside of the village  (for he did not wish to frighten the inhabitants; only wanting to see whether his ward was somewhere in there), that the villagers eventually realised that he did not wish them harm. The bravest of them, an old man with a weary but gentle soul, came out to the Master and gave him some water and food. Though the Master did not need food or water (immortal as he was), his heart bled for these villagers, strangers who were willing to share the little they had with a predatory lion.

                That small act cemented the Master’s choice to stay. How could he not when their souls were so pure?

                He decided, then and there, that until he found his ward and duty, he would protect these little people.

 

* * *

  

The years flew by, bringing change with them.

                Rumours started to sweep across Afghanistan, soft whispers passed from village to city; of a guardian spirit that took the shape of a lion – a beast of immense size and strength. The whispers spoke that the spirit roamed the desert terrains, saving villages and locals from the men that reigned through terror and guns.

                In the beginning, when the rumours first started to fly around, there were many people who were sceptic. Calling others fools for believing in fake spirits, the group remained firm in their belief, refusing to be swayed.

                ...

                Until they needed saving themselves and a lion appeared, a vision rising with the sun, rays surrounding it like a halo. A roar followed its wake, one that shook the ground underneath their feet and echoed around for miles. Then, with a cry of what could only be rage, the lion swept past the villagers or city inhabitants, claws and teeth sinking into the flesh of the abusers.

                ...

                The unbelieving joined the believing, whispering of Allah and hope, of prayers being answered.

 

* * *

 

The moon was shining silver white, its soft rays dancing exultantly on the desert floor below. Stars glimmered in the onyx sky, little balls of fire that winked at the moon before going to play with their Master.

                Beneath the vast sky, the Master paced across the empty landscape, barely heading the soft lights that twirled around him in invitation.Yet if a passerby happened to walk by the Master then, they would have been met with a vision of gold and silver, twinkling starlight, and a raw _living_ power.

               The Master, however, did not care for beauty right now. His mind, as it had been for the past few months now, was on his ward (his lack of one, that is).

                He had been tied to this country for three years now. Though it was not the longest he had been without a ward (Asgard held that record with 400 years), it never sat well with him when he could not find his ward quickly. Growling under his breath, the Master stalked the sandy dunes, keeping a wary eye open for the enemy (naive as they were to hunt him), his tail striking the air in agitation when none where forthcoming. _What he wouldn't give_ to sink his teeth into something and alleviate some of the frustration that was sinking in him. 

                ‘ _What bothers you, love?’_

                The Master couldn’t help the smile that suddenly found its way on his face even if he tried.

                Mortem. His dear Servant.

                ‘ _It is good to hear you, Mortem. I missed you,'_ he thought to himself (his words, incapable of being spoken in this form, would always be able to reach his love).

                A laugh tickled the Master’s mind, and the image of Mortem, with a loving smile in place, flashed through his mind.

               ‘ _Dear one, I talked with you this morning.’_

                Feeling himself flush, the Master was suddenly glad that Mortem could only see him and wasn’t actually there.

                Another laugh. A soft pulse of warmth.

                ‘ _Be at peace, Master, I mean you no offence. For I_ _always miss you, dear one. Be it morning, noon or night, in this life or another. Regardless of whether I just visited you, or just talked to you a few hours ago, I still miss you.’_

The Master smiled, already feeling his embarrassment dispence. Mortem always knew what to say to calm him.

                _‘That is more like it. Now Master, what is it that worries you?’_

                The Master stopped his pacing abruptly at that question. Suddenly tired, he stretched himself on the cool sand underneath. Keeping his ears peeled for any noise (constant vigilance!), he turned his gaze inward and upwards – to his Servant up amidst the galaxies above.

                ‘ _It is my ward, Mortem. I have not found them yet, and it worries me. I know I have waited years before for my wards to be born, but I cannot help but feel like I should not tarry here too long.’_

_‘Easy, Master. Do not forget that you were put here for a purpose. When the time is ready, you will find your ward. Until that time, do not worry yourself so.’_

Agitated, the Master blew out a breath haltingly. Mortem was never wrong, and yet he could not help but feel like he should be finding his ward soon. Something was amiss, something foul touching the air.

                ‘ _Worry not, tonight, love. Come, rest yourself and sleep a bit. I will watch over you tonight.’_

 _‘Always worrying about me, Mortem.  Should it not be the other way around? As your Master, I feel like it is my duty to look after_ you. _’_

_‘Never, dear one. I will always worry about your more. Now sleep.’_

 

The Master woke up to a bright sun shining directly above him, at its peak. Yawning widely, he stood up and stretched his back, muscles arching into a long curve.  Lethargy heavy in his limbs, the Master settled down once more and started grooming himself, too lazy to do anything else at the moment.

                His sleep had been, for the first time in a long while, peaceful. Mortem’s presence seemed to always have that effect on him. Feeling his heart throb with love for his dear Servant, the Master sent his thanks up to the other.

                ‘ _Thank you.’_

_‘Always a pleasure, dear one.’_

Smiling at the love he felt echo back to him, the Master settled comfortably down in his little dune.

                It was only when the sun had passed its prime, that the Master felt the need to continue his work.  As much as he might have liked to just continue lying in the sun, it was not becoming for the Master of Death to be found in such a position.

                He had work to do.

                Groomed, and well rested, the Master stood up once more.  Looking around him, at the barren ground and the endless sand, the Master chose a random path to walk on. All the paths he took were the same, always leading him back to the villages and cities he fought to protect. You never knew though, perhaps one path would be different (one could wish).

                The hour passed slowly for the Master, as he walked his selected path. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, the only variation being the occasional vegetation.  No enemies or friends crossed his border, only the small fauna that lived here.

               He sighed, bored.

               And an explosion ripped the air, a _boom_ that echoed under the lands, followed by a stream of shouts and howls that ended as abruptly as they started.

 

* * *

 

There was a man sprawled across the sand, his body small under the metal debris surrounding him. Blood and grime covered the man’s skin (what little of it that could be seen, that is), revealing a story of torture and _pain_ to the Master.

                The Master was all too familiar with the Ten Rings, and their mark on this man was undeniable.

                Snarling in anger on the man’s behalf (no man, woman, child or beast deserved the mercy of the Ten Rings), the Master waded carefully through the burning metal to where the man was lying.

                Upon seeing the man’s face, the Master immediately knew that he had found his ward.

                Love, cherish, _protect_.

                The same feelings every time, through every lifespan, swept through him once more. 

                The same whisper in his ear from Mortem, a confirmation, echoed through him. ‘ _This is your new ward, dear one. He is yours now to protect and guide, as you must do. For he holds the balance of his world in his hands.’_

                This man, whoever he was, was his ward now, his _cub._

_His to protect._

                The Ten Rings would pay for their crimes. Anger, such as that he had not felt in a long time, raced through his blood. His magic, usually reigned in, lashed around him in agitation, burning all the metal around him in anguish for his cub (leaving nothing behind but his precious cub, protected from the fire by the the Master's strongest shield). 

                Amidst all the chaos though, the man continued to lie unconscious on the hot sand, a testament of all the torture he had suffered.

                The Master roared at seeing this, feeling his wrath (his magic) shake the very earth underneath him. His tail lashed angrily behind him, and his claws dug into the sand underneath him. He snarled, baring his teeth, vowing that he would get vengeance.

                After all, as Master of Death, his job was to to maintain the balance of the world. This, in his very biased mind constituted an imbalance ( _no one was allowed to hurt his cub and get away with it)_. Balance would be restored.

                Their blood, for the blood of his ward.

                Their pain, for the pain they had caused.

                Their lives, for all those they had taken.

 

* * *

 

When Tony had shot up into the air inside the armour, he immediately knew that he had pushed the armour too far. He knew it instinctively, just as he had known below that the only way he would survive was if he flew.

                 With eyes burning with the image of Yinsen, and ears bleeding with the explosions he had caused, Tony cursed every God he could think of.  _Dammit, they had been so close!_

                Now, watching the ground come up to meet him as he plunged to his probable death in a burning metal suit, Tony couldn’t help but mourn the fact that Yinsen had wasted his life for nothing.

                All his careful planning, his torture, for _nothing_.

                The ground grew increasingly closer, until there wasn't a gap at all between it and Tony. As the suit made impact with the burning sand with a heavy _thud_ , and pieces broke off to burn, Tony wished that things could have gone differently.

                As the pain spread through his body, and darkness edged his vision, he cried for his friend and for a future that could have gone differently.

 

Consciousness came and went, each time bringing with it surprise at being alive.

                His suit was trashed, scattered around him in burning heaps, suffocating him with the smoke as much as the sun and sand underneath burned him with their heat.

                Try as he might though, Tony couldn’t find the strength to push the heavy metal off him, the pieces melded to his skin as if to mock his escape. Miraculously though, the metal still on him, and the pieces directly next to him weren’t burning.

                He was alive. If only just. 

                Now, if only he could stay conscious enough to figure out a way through the mess he was in!

                Feeling darkness tint his vision, Tony swore and tried to escape, feeling desperation trickle through him as his body grew weaker. The darkness only beckoned stronger, the quiet bliss it offered a temptation.

                Unable to push his way through his self-made tomb, Tony felt himself reach the brink of his strength. Just as he was about to succumb to the darkness, Tony found himself hesitating. 

                Using the remainder of his strength, he levered himself up on an elbow and looked up. He did not know what made him look up, or what it was that called him to it, but whatever it was, he found himself searching the crest for _something._

                As if to answer his call, a bright light touched the crest and a large shape emerged through it, pulsating with power and grace.

                Mouth dropping in awe, Tony had just enough time to notice a red mane and a golden body, before his strength waned and darkness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in space, Mortem snorted in amusement as he felt his Master’s anger and surge of protectiveness and Tony's confusion.

               Anthony Edward Stark wouldn’t know what hit him.

               (Mortem knew from personal experience just how protective his Master could be).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Congrats to all those who guessed Afghanistan correctly! Yes, Tony Stark is going to be the Master’s cub! It’s going to be adorable (and awesome!)
> 
> And for all those comments about Lion King, I thank you all for making me laugh. They made my day!
> 
> Coming up: Tony meets his new guardian and a bond is made. Also, my beautiful Rhodey makes an appearance. Can anyone guess how he will react to see his best friend with a giant lion? Ahhaha, just thinking about it makes me laugh.
> 
> P.S: Sorry this chapter is so short. Don't worry though, I have more content now to work on, so expect longer pieces in future :)


	4. The Lion's Cub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey All!!
> 
> Thank you to every one of you beautiful souls! Your love is everything to me! I read each and every single one of your comments, and they mean the world to me. So thank you (and thank you for making me laugh!)
> 
> Without further ado, I present my next chapter. I hope it pleases you! It has taken me weeks to post this, so I hope you appreciate it (technology can be horrible sometimes, am I right?)

 

_"A love second only to Death,_

_A bond stronger than time,_

 

_The Master will always guard his ward,_

_Against the Darkness and foes alike.”_  

 

* * *

 

The Master’s anger did not last long.

                Oh, he was still furious with the Ten Rings, and he would return to execute his vengeance ( _he would rain fire such as they had never seen before)_ , but his priority now was his cub. There would never be a contest between his cub’s safety and his own vengeance.

                With only a little bit of disappointment that his vengeance would have to wait, the Master put thoughts of sinking his teeth into the flesh of those responsible away and reeled in his magic. Slowly (for he  _was_  still furious), the Master’s magic started to calm down; the pulsating wave of fire turning into soft embers that curled back into a faint whisper, until there was nothing there at all.

                He had a job to do.

                With a gentleness that belied his great size, the Master carefully pulled his cub from the remains of what had clearly been an amazing invention at one time. When his cub was clear from the last of the burning debris, the Master knelt known and nuzzled the man’s face, sending a warm pulse of magic into the barely breathing body. Then, ever so gently, he lifted the man onto his back (using magic to make sure that the man would not jostle) and carried him away from the scene.

 

The Master walked for an hour, treading carefully on the lilting sand, doing everything he could to make sure his cub was not disturbed. It was slow going, but the Master did not mind. It gave him time to think.

                Right now, his priority was healing his cub of the hurts that the Ten Rings left behind. He needed to get to a safe place, where he could nurture and take care of the man’s injuries. Perhaps he could take him to one of his villages? One where the locals knew and recognised him, and would be willing to share food with one more person? No...the thought left him almost as quickly as it came. He would not put that strain on those already with little unless he had no other choice.

                So where?

                The answer hit him so suddenly that he nearly stopped.

                There was a cave near one of the villages the Master frequented. It was close to where he was now, another hour at their current pace. It offered peace and sanctuary from the prayers and wishes of the people, well shaded from any prying eyes.  And best of all, the cave had a soft spring inside it, cool water that his cub would need if he were to recover.

                Mind made up, the Master changed his course and headed in an easterly direction. He sent another pulse of magic to his cub, one that put him in a deeper healing sleep (the Master did not want to jeopardise the other’s health, and he could only imagine how the man would react to being carried by a lion of his size).

                The next hour passed in a blur, the Master’s whole focus turned to his cub and finding his cave. Keeping a wary eye open for any enemy that might have followed them ( _he dared them to try!_ ), he slowly made his way to a rocky hill range that dominated part of desert.

                Upon reaching the fold of the middle hill, the Master began his climb. Over rocks and deep crevices, he carefully made his way to a sheltered fold in the rock. To an outsider it would have looked like the Master simply disappeared into the mountain, but a closer look would have revealed a small entrance into a wide cave.

                In the quiet of the dark, the Master gently floated his cub to the hard floor beneath. Placing a cushioning spell under his cub so that the rocks would not hurt him any more than he already was, the Master started to brighten the cave – he would need light if he was going to heal his ward.

                Padding over to the centre of the cave, he tapped the floor with a paw and breathed gently into the still air.  At once a gentle fire burst into being, it’s warmth flooding the cave instantly. Raising his head to the stony ceiling above, the Master hummed low in his throat. Butterflies, glowing bright in their multitudes of colours, burst into existence and flew around the stony ceiling, casting light into the shadowy crevices that adorned the cave’s layout.

                Satisfied with his work, the Master turned and padded towards his cub determinedly. It was time to heal the hurts that stained his precious human.  Kneeling beside his cub, the Master lowered his great head and gently licked the other’s face, sending his love and magic into his cub.

                His magic knew what to do.

                It did not hesitate.

 

The Master of Death looked at his cub, tucked safely under the shade of his body, and smiled at the peaceful face he saw. Healing his cub from the torture he had suffered had been a long process.  The mental and physical wounds had run deep in his cub, damaging what was otherwise one of the most intelligent,  _beautiful_  souls he had ever met (and he had met many in his travels). The Master had healed all the physical wounds but left the smallest taint of mental hurt in the others soul (to erase all would only be detrimental and hurt his cub more).

                Now, hours later, the Master could safely say that his cub was healthy again (or as healthy as he could possibly be considering the situation) and ready to wake up soon. Having left his cub a while back under strong protection wards, the Master had hunted and found some fresh food and meats for his cub. Alongside the spring that lay deeper inside the cave, his cub would be nourished until he was strong enough to leave.

                The Master needed only to wait now.         

   

* * *

  

Tony was not unaccustomed to being unconscious.

                On the contrary, his colourful past insured his familiarity with that murky in-between place. He was well acquainted with the unresponsiveness that came with being unconscious: the sluggish feeling that would permeate his brain, the lethargy that would lay thick over his bones, the smothering air that chocked him until he didn’t want to wake, didn’t want to fight,  _to live._

                So when he started to see darkness creep over his eyes on that sandy dune, Tony knew he was falling sideways into that murky realm. He expected darkness and a cold pressure sinking into him.

                What he did not expect to see was colour. 

                Thick clouds of colour swam around him softly, a multitude of shades and tones that were beautiful to see. Constantly unravelling and reforming around him, the bright colours were intertwining with each other, bound to each other in an eternal dance.  

                Tony floated amidst this colourful world, awe-struck at the sheer beauty that enveloped him. Tendrils of warmth sought him out as he floated here, seeping into his bones and flesh, healing him from the hurts that had defiled him in the Cave.

                Tony shivered at the intimate feeling, though he did not shy away from it. Somehow, he knew that the little tendrils of warmth meant him no harm. On the contrary, all he could get from them was an eternal, seemingly unconditional, love  _for him_.

                It was intoxicating.

                For the first time in his life, everything was  _quiet_. There was no clutter in his brain, no inventions or conversations distracting him. Here, in this magical place (for it could be nothing but magic – and science could for once so sik it because this was amazing), he could find peace and start to heal.

               

Tony woke up in steps.

                The first thing he registered was warmth. Beautiful warmth, so different to the bone-chilling cold that permeated the Cave. It seeped into his bones, warming his very soul and chasing away the heavy darkness that still lay somnolent and heavy over his limbs.

                Then came sound. Eyelids still pressed tight against some sort of bright light (Tony wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t just going to open his eyes straight away,  _thank you very much_ ), he could make out a loud rustling sound. What was that? Underneath the rustling, he could also make out a crackling sound, softer than the rustling but closer to him. Mind still slow, it took Tony a minute to connect the sound to the warmth around him: a fire. And there were other sounds too: soft sounds, barely discernible between each other. Dripping? A trickling perhaps? Loud exhales?

                Bewildered by the torrent that suddenly seemed to invade his ears, Tony grimaced and tried to move away from it all. His limbs did not seem to want to listen to him, however, and insisted on twitching sporadically instead. Moaning in agitation at the lack of coordination, Tony determinedly tried again, mentally ordering his limbs to obey him this time.  Yet try as he might, it was all for naught as his body decided that nope, it wasn’t going to listen to its host anymore. 

                Tony could feel tears of frustration wet his eyelashes. Would nothing go his way?  _Damn it!_  For once, just once, could something go right the first time?

                However, before he could lose himself in his self-pity, something wet touched his face.

                The scream that tore itself from his throat at the touch was both loud and shrill (and one that Tony would deny to his dying day).  Blood suddenly pounded through his veins, pushing adrenaline into his body. He slammed his eyes open, desperate to see  _what the hell_  just touched him, desperate to  _push it away_  if it was something unfavourable.

                Of course, in his rush, Tony forgot that he was keeping his eyes closed for a reason. Blinded by what appeared to be a whirlwind of colours, bright and intoxicating, Tony’s eyes watered. Slamming them shut again, he gasped and whimpered in pain.  _God, that had hurt_.

                Whatever had touched him before seemed to agree, because it licked him again, lapping at his face concerningly with what was almost certainly a tongue.

                Taking a deep breath, Tony decided to screw the bright, searing light and find out _what the hell was licking him_. Slowly, so as to not completely blindside himself, he opened his eyes… and stared.

                On the plus side, the colourful lights were no longer blinding him.

                On the other hand, they weren’t blinding him because they were being blocked by a lion.

                A lion.

                A large,  _almost impossibly so_ , golden lion.

                Whose red maned face was currently only one foot away from his own.

                Tony screamed.

                And promptly passed out.

   

* * *

 

 

 The Master stared at his unconscious ward, bewildered at his reaction to seeing him. 

                Had his cub never seen a lion before?

                Puzzling over it for a few minutes, the Master debated the credibility of that statement. He shook his mane, sure that that couldn’t be it. Perhaps he had been too close to the other man’s face? He supposed that seeing a lion close up would startle anyone. He nodded his head. Yes, that was probably it.

                But now what to do? 

                ‘ _You take care of him, Master. You nurture him and follow him where he goes, until he trusts you. You protect him from harm and guide him when he is troubled.’_

The Master smiled as he felt his lover’s words trickle down to him from their domain in space. ‘ _It is good to hear from you, love.’_

_‘Missing me already, Master? How sweet.’_

The Master snorted mentally and scoffed, yet his smile spread wider and turned softer. It had been too long since he last saw his lover. ‘ _Miss you? Always_.’

                ‘ _And I you. But going back to the matter at hand, I do not see why you hesitate. Just do what you always do, love, and all will be well. As it is every time.’_

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Tony woke up, it was darker.  

                Mind still somewhat asleep, it took him an embarrassingly long minute to realise that thought. And an even longer minute to question why it shouldn’t be dark. He frowned at the darkness behind his lids. There was something that he should be remembering, something about the darkness and the reason why he was lying down on a – was that a pillow? - soft surface. Why was it soft? And why shouldn’t it be dark?

                Slowly, but picking up speed, Tony’s thoughts started to race.  The last thing he remembered was escaping the cave without Yinsen –  _no, don’t think about him_  – and then landing in the sandy dunes where he was sure that he was going to die. Then, just as he had started to give up, he had glimpsed something on the crest of a dune, something red and gold. Everything after that was a blur, a seemingly endless swirl of colour around him, until he woke up again and saw…a lion?

                 A lion!

Eyes slamming open, Tony gasped as adrenaline once again surged through his limbs and propelled him forward so that he was sitting up, hands clenched tightly.

                Eyes wide open for the first time in a long time, Tony couldn’t help but gasp as he glimpsed dozens of glowing butterflies gently flutter around the what was clearly a cave’s roof (and he panicked at that, because how had he ended up in a cave again?).

                The butterflies were beautiful, majestic in their soft glows and gentle flutters. Rotating in a large circle underneath the stony roof, the butterflies gave off just enough light for Tony to see where he was.

                In the face of their beauty, Tony couldn't help but calm down.

                Mind calmer, his thoughts also became clearer.

 Staring at the butterflies, Tony frowned.  _They were brighter before_ , he absently thought to himself as he slowly stood up from his position, only shaking a bit. He was sure that the butterflies were the bright lights he had seen before, too bright for him to even open his eyes. Someone…or something…had turned them down (was that even possible? Then again, were glowing butterflies even possible?)

                Shaking the vague ideas from his head, (not knowing what to think about the butterfly lights), Tony took a cautious step forward, eyes suddenly focused on the floating fire in front of him.

_Floating._

_I must be dreaming_ , Tony’s half delirious thought whispered to him. There was no other explanation as to why floating fires and glowing butterflies existed. Eyes fixated on the fire merrily dancing near the centre of the cave, Tony took another step forward, only to stop. How odd… it was almost like he was stepping on something soft, like a cushion.

                Now, Tony could maybe put the butterflies and floating fire as figments of his dreams, but none of his dreams ever had a stone floor turn soft as a cushion, and yet look like stone. Tony frowned and turned his gaze to his feet. Furrowing his brows slightly, he took another step forward, watching in bewilderment as his bare foot did not sink into the cushion he was  _clearly stepping in_.

                Just what the hell was going on?

_‘Calm yourself, little one. You are simply seeing the impossible for the first time. It is nothing to panic over.’_

                Tony gasped and twirled around (or tried to anyway. If he was being honest with himself, it was more like a staggered, drunken turn than anything as graceful as a twirl. Sue him).  The voice had come from the other side of the cave, assumedly where the entrance was.

                Steadying himself, Tony couldn’t help but let his mouth fall open in shock as he glimpsed the lion from before.

                Standing proudly at the entrance of the cave, body dwarfing the majority of the entrance (letting only the barest amount of silver moonlight in), was the red and gold lion. Its body seemed to shimmer and glow, an internal brightness glowing within its breast.

                ‘Beautiful’, Tony whispered in awe, as he felt his fears suddenly drain away. He had nothing to fear from this lion, of that he was sure.

                The lion seemed to agree, as it – no,  _he_  – as he padded forward to Tony and purred low in his throat. Still in shock, Tony could only watch in astonishment as the majestic lion kneeled down in front of him and tilted his head in submission.

                ‘Holy shit', Tony continued to whisper. Hardly daring to believe that the lion was real, he slowly lifted his right hand and placed it on the other’s neck.

                All at once, Tony felt his whole being click into place. Unknowingly, he closed his eyes and exhaled softly. It was as if everything in his whole life had led him to this moment here. As if he was drowning before, and only now had he reached the surface to take his first breath.  His whole being was at peace, flourishing underneath the love of this great being.

                It could have been minutes or hours, for all Tony cared. Time did not exist anymore as he succumbed to the rush of emotions that were coursing through him. It felt unlike anything he had ever felt before, and tears fell from his eyes as he finally became whole.

                ‘ _Hush now, little one. You are safe now, I am here.’_

The voice from before!

                It couldn’t have been...yet it had to be...there was no one else.

                Slowly, not daring to believe it, Tony opened his eyes and knelt so that he was face to face with the great beast in front of him. Intelligent green eyes, framed by golden fur and the richest mane, met his own brown eyes.

                ‘Who are you?’ Tony whispered shakily, moving his palm from where it had tangled in the lion’s mane sometime in the last few minutes, gently pushing it instead to soft fur of the lion’s forehead.

                The lion laughed (or appeared to be anyway), throwing his head back and huffing gently, his breath ruffling Tony’s curls. A smile stretched across the lion's muzzle as he brought his head down and stared deep into brown eyes. A voice whispered through the quite air, pass the lion’s lips (which Tony noticed were sealed) and straight into Tony’s mind.

_‘I should have expected that the one question I cannot answer would be the one you choose to ask. I cannot disclose who I am, little one, for the knowledge would overwhelm you. Just know that I am here to protect you and guide you. That no harm or pain shall befall you whilst I am alive.’_

Overwhelmed already, Tony just nodded his head, hardly daring to believe this was happening, yet somehow knowing it was. ‘Right. Of course. That’s normal,' he said lightly ( ~~disbelievingly~~ ), 'nothing wrong with that at all.’

                The lion did his weird huffing laughter again, and only nuzzled Tony again, letting loose a soft purr as the man petted him.

                ‘So, if you won’t tell me who you are… what do I call you? I can’t keep calling you lion in my head, that’s so…’ here Tony wrinkled his brow, thinking, ‘…so not my style.’

                Another huff of laughter. ‘ _I am your guardian, cub. You can call me whatever you like, for I will always answer your call.’_

‘How about...let's see...Apollo? Like the God?'

                ‘ _A God, you say? A fitting name then. I accept.'_

* * *

 

 

The next few days passed in a blur for Tony, who was too enthralled with his new friend to pay any heed to the rising and waning of the sun. As the remainder of his wounds healed (and wasn’t Tony surprised when he finally noticed the lack of injuries adorning his body), Tony remained inside his new abode, away from the blistering heat of the desert, surrounded instead by the impossible.  

                And in those few days, in that out-of-time place, Tony forgot all about the Cave and the Ten Rings. Instead, his whole genius was focused on Apollo (and his magic, because  _how even_?).

                (He didn't realise it, but the thought of escape also slipped his mind).

 

* * *

 

 

 The Master-turned-Apollo was outside, hunting for food.

                It had been four days since Tony had first woken up in the cave, and Apollo could honestly say he was in love. His new ward was simply beautiful in every aspect, with a mind that was  _inspiring_  to listen to, and a soul that was so  _pure_  it amazed him. In those four days, Apollo had acquainting himself with his cub, learning everything about him that he could. His birthplace, his parents, his friends, his hobbies, and anything else he could think off.

                The bond between them had grown stronger since its forging, and even now if Apollo closed his eyes he could sense where Tony was and feel what he was feeling. No matter where or -  

                 _Boom!_

                Apollo stopped at the sound of the small explosion, and growled as the large echo of a what was obviously a gunshot rolled towards him. Mouth pulling back to reveal sharp canines, he snarled as he realised his hunt would not be happening any time soon.

                He was not alone, it seemed.

                And if he had to place a bet on who it was, Apollo wouldn't hesitate to place his magic on the Ten Rings (they were the only stupid ones to continuously enter his territory, never learning from their dead comrades).

                _The Ten Rings._

                Apollo paused at that thought. Perhaps he could still go hunting? Internally smirking at the thought of the upcoming bloodshed, Apollo lowered his body down so that he was flush with what little undergrowth the desert floor provided, and slunk towards where the sound came from.

                Using his magic to silence his steps, Apollo reached the crest of the next dune and gazed down on the sandy plain in front of him. No enemy fire met him. So where did the sound come from? Stretching his magic across the grounds, Apollo waited a minute and then tilted his head to the left, where his magic sang the strongest.

                Changing his direction, Apollo placed a cloaking spell on his body and leaped down, tearing across the open space at his fastest speed. He stopped abruptly a few minutes later, under another dune, knowing that whoever shot that gun was behind it. Cloaking spell still in place, Apollo climbed the dune and stood in silence as his sharp eyes caught every detail in front of him.

                A small squad of ten military men were camped below him, a helicopter parked only a few metres away. Each of the men were wielding large firearms on their bodies, their uniforms obviously packed to the brim. Three of the men were patrolling the area, their weapons out and ready for the first sound of trouble.

                Amidst all the frenzy, a dark-skinned man was yelling loudly at another soldier, his pitch almost making Apollo wince (how had he not heard the man's loud voice a mile away?). It was clear from the dark-skinned males domineering posture and his anger that he was in charge of the ten-man squad. His current victim was attempting (read: failing) to argue back, pointing to his gun with a frown on his face.

                 _Ah_ , Apollo thought almost amusedly.  _Someone accidentally gave their position away._

                Taking a few cautious steps down the crest (constant vigilance!), Apollo tried to listen in to their conversation, hoping to find out why these men were here. It was obvious from their garb and speech that they were not from around these parts.

                ‘...f you can’t do your damn job, soldier!’

                ‘...won’t happen...’

                '...gave our position...trying to...discreet!’

                ‘...Affirmative Colonel Rhodes...no, I promise...sir, yes, sir!’

                Apollo frowned as the two males finished their argument and settled down in their camp. That name,  _Colonel Rhodes_ , it had sounded familiar. Where had he heard it before? He’d heard it recently, he was sure of that. But where?

                Of course!  _Tony!_

                In a flash, Apollo turned tail. He had news to bring to his cub.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony was lying on his back, half-lidded eyes sluggishly watching the butterflies dance in circles, mesmerised by their beauty and light. Apollo had left an hour ago to go hunting for more food, having left only after extracting a promise from Tony that he would stay put (and since when did Tony ever listen to anyone besides himself?).

                If he was being honest with himself, Tony was still amazed at the turn of events his life had taken. If you had told him a week ago (in the darkness of his Cave) that he would be rescued by a magic lion that shared some sort of profound bond with him, Tony would have laughed and completely shred apart the poor soul stupid enough to talk about magic in his presence.

                But here he was, somewhat sane and mostly healed, waiting for Apollo to bring him food.

                Just thinking about the lion made Tony smile. Apollo was…amazing. In every sense of the word. He was otherworldly and down-to-earth, a commodity that felt both unknown and familiar. Whenever he was near Apollo, Tony would immediately feel safe and at peace (a new feeling that he was already addicted to). He knew that nothing could go wrong when he was near the other, not even the Ten Rings or his time in the Caves could take that away from him.

                He shut his eyes, lulled by the butterflies and the eternal fire near him.  When Apollo came back, maybe he would ask for permission to study his magic. After all, there had to be some logical explanation for his magic (he was a scientist after all).

                He drifted…

                ‘ _Wake up, cub. It is time to leave this cave. Your ride is here.’_

                Startled from his slumber, Tony sat up and turned to face Apollo, whose huge frame always blocked the cave’s entrance. Yawning, Tony sat up and stretched his sore muscles. ‘We’re leaving? Why? Where to? Also, did you bring food? I’m starving!’

                Apollo huffed and gently padded forward, kneeling to lick the other’s face. ' _Always with the questions, little one. Yes, we are leaving. I have found something I believe you will love more than food. Don't look so alarmed, I promise that I will find you some food on the way there.'_

Curiosity peeked, Tony laughed breathlessly and shoved Apollo's face away, wiping away the saliva that had decided to attach itself to his face. ‘What did you find?' he asked instead.

                Apollo visibly paused before he smiled and leaned down again to lick away a speck of grime from Tony's face. ‘ _I believe his name is Colonel Rhodes? I found him and his group of men a little way from here.’_

_..._

Tony's heart stopped for a minute.

                Rhodey.

                 _His Rhodey_.

                His best friend and brother.

                Heart suddenly beating again, Tony's throat suddenly became tight and he almost choked as images of his best friend bombarded him.

                Rhodey was his rock - the one steady thing that Tony could always rely on. Solid and firm, Rhodey was always there when Tony needed him, his love unconditional and his heart always forgiving. How many times had Rhodey reached out to Tony when he was drowning in a black hole? How many times had his brother pulled him out of despair and cradled his broken soul in strong hands, soft words taping up the holes that made up Tony's being?

                Tony whimpered.

                 _Oh Gods, he had missed Rhodey so much_.

                Eyes watering at the prospect of seeing his brother again, Tony scrambled up as quickly as he could, almost falling over in the process (Apollo's paw being the only thing that stopped him from face-palming the floor).

                'We need to leave now!' Tony shouted in a panic, suddenly desperate to leave this new found safe haven (the safest haven for him had always been Rhodey's arms).

                He needed to see him immediately, yesterday even. He couldn't wait to throw himself in his brother's arm, to burrow in as close as possible and then some. To clutch the other man's broad shoulders and  _never ever let go_. 

                ' _Calm yourself, little one. We will go now.’_

                'Yes, we must.' Tony croaked out, his tears falling unashamedly (Rhodey was worth all his tears). 

   

* * *

           

James was on first watch, eyes fixed on the sandy dunes around him. He was a bit further out then he had originally planned (his camp hidden behind several dunes by now), but he couldn’t help it - after that shitshow, he knew that he needed to leave before he did something stupid. Jaw clenched tight in anger, he seethed silently, cursing his soldiers in his head. 

                He had given them one order. One order only:  _Don’t, under any circumstances, give our position away_.

                And what did they do?

                James growled, forcing his anger down as the rush of  _killthemkillthemkillthem_ went through his head. They were new soldiers, babies fresh out of training. He couldn’t go too hard on them, despite how much he wanted to (despite how much they deserved it). He couldn’t afford jeopardising anything, lest he lose them.

                At that sobering thought, his anger left him.

                Those soldiers, new as they were, were his last hope. The military, after three months of fruitless searching, simply wouldn’t give him anyone else.

                Biting back the tears that wanted to escape him, James exhaled slowly. Just because he was stuck with newbs didn’t mean he wouldn’t push them to their limits. Wouldn’t push them till they gave him everything and more.

                 _He had to find Tony_ , it was as simple as that. If he had to spend the rest of his life hunting down who took his best friend, he would. James was very protective of his friends, and Tony was more than a best friend. He was his  _brother,_  always had been and always would be. And if James was protective over his friends, he was that and more when it came to blood.

                Come hell or high water, he would find Tony.

                ‘Sugar...um!’

                Exhaling shakily, James shook his head, hoping to dispel the faint echo of his friend from his memory (it was happening more and more recently – echoes of laughter and teasing banter that would leave James on the verge of tears every single time).

                What he wouldn’t give to hear Tony’s voice right now. Closing his eyes, James prayed to every deity he knew. He would take anything, even those stupid,  _ridiculous_ , nick names the other man kept coming up with.

                ‘Platypus! Over here!’

                Platypus, Honey Bear, Sourpatch…the list went on.

                ‘Rhodey! For the love of – LOOK UP JAMES!’

                Eyes snapping open abruptly, James looked up, not daring to believe what he saw.

                Tony was riding the back of a magnificent,  _unbelievably huge,_  lion, whose golden body seemed to glitter and shine in the sun’s light as it rose a crest. A maniacal grin was etched in Tony’s face, his right arm waving frantically as his left clutched the lion’s mane. Hair wild from the wind, arms bare in the burning sun…Tony looked beautifully real (realer than any hallucination James may or may not have had before).

                A roar tore the air apart as the lion bounded down the last dune and stopped in front of James, its body huge and standing well above his head.

                Before James could do anything about what was probably his obvious death at the ends of a crazy lion (where were his soldiers? Did none of them hear that roar?), Tony slid down the lion’s back.

                All thoughts of the lion fled James’s head as he saw Tony. Hands shaking only slightly, he reached out to touch the other's face, hoping beyond hope that this wasn't another dream.

                Flesh met flesh.

                James cried out, almost breaking down right there. Not hesitating for a moment later, he grabbed Tony and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, almost weeping at the familiar feel of the smaller man.

                 _Tony was actually here. Oh God, Tony was real and back and finally safe again._

                The tears he had been holding back for the past 3 months finally fell from his face, as he ran his hand through Tony’s somewhat longer hair and crushed him closer, folding the other’s body into his own, until there was no space between the two of them.

                He would never let go again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, guys!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it. Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth out of a starving shark's mouth. Let me all know how you found it.
> 
> To answer some questions that might already be popping:  
> \- Only Tony will be able to talk with Apollo. It's their special bond  
> \- Tony is acting more like himself already because of Apollo's magic, which healed much of his physical and mental scars. Obviously, not everything is fixed, and Tony will still have aspects of his PTSD.
> 
> Coming up:  
> \- Rhodey confronts Tony about Apollo  
> \- Apollo gives Rhodey the shovel talk  
> \- Rhodey and Tony bonding time  
> \- Hello New York (and reality)!
> 
> P.S: what do you all think about the Master's new name? I found it fitting, but I would love to see what you all think. 
> 
> P.P.S: shout out to the Ao3 support team. They are amazing!


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